


flesh and bone gripped tight

by theskyeskye



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Kiss, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, References to Addiction, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen can't sleep, the lyrium lure is too strong and he can feel it under his skin. He seeks out distraction from a friend, one who might understand how hard it is to close your eyes when all you see is nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flesh and bone gripped tight

**Author's Note:**

> SO I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY THERE IS NOT MORE OF THIS PAIRING IT UPSETS ME. Anyway. Something I wrote really quick to cheer a friend of mine up.

Cullen stood there in the doorway, fists clenched, a sheen of cold sweat glistening on him and when Blackwall looked up, he parted his lips to say something, but nothing came out so he closed it again. In the late night hours— _or was it early morning_  — Skyhold was eerily quiet. The crackle of the fire in Blackwall’s barn, because it was his now, was one of the only sounds in the chilly air. 

Despite the light flakes of snow that melted when they met the grass, Cullen was sweating. The cravings, the need for lyrium, always burned him up from the inside, like venom in his veins. He was in his plainclothes, soft brown fabric, dampened with perspiration, darker along his chest and down between his shoulder blades. He must have looked a bit frightened because Blackwall set aside the pipe in his hand and was up in an instant. Cullen was surprised to have caught anyone awake on his walk to clear his head. 

His feet had carried him here, subconsciously craving some kind of human connection in these moments of madness and weakness. 

"Are you feeling alright, Commander?" he was so formal, despite the fact that he was disrobed for the day as well. No gloves, no padded armor. For a change, Cullen could see the strength in Blackwall’s form. The way his body tapered, though was still somewhat stout, somewhat soft. His forearms were defined, strong, they looked like they could catch him if he were to fall. He often felt like falling these days.

Cullen’s eyes snapped up to Blackwall’s face, away from where they’d been following the lines that made this man before him what he was. _What. Not who._ There was so much he still didn’t know about Blackwall, but what he did know, was that he felt at ease showing weakness in front of his fellow soldier. Different armies, sure, but they were men cut from similar cloth, just different shades.

He was reminded of his time in templar training, how he could turn to a senior officer for a bit of guidance or a strong hand to push him out of a rut. He’d gone to Meredith once, and now, he wishes he hadn’t. He tried to think of anything else as he un-clenched his fists and lifted a hand to rub the tension from the back of his neck; it was a nervous habit that never really seemed to work.

"I… yes.. well no. I—" Cullen stumbled over words like he’d forgotten how to speak and cleared his throat, looking anywhere, everywhere, studying the wood grain and the color of the hay, the glow of the fire, and finally made his way back to Blackwall’s eyes. 

There was cautious concern there.

"Is it the lure again?" Blackwall understood. He was one of the only ones who did, Cullen supposed. He’d heard tales of what wardens went through, what it was like to toss and turn and see things you prayed and begged the maker you wouldn’t have to. Lyrium was doing that to him. Lyrium was driving him mad. 

"I can’t sleep. I… I kept seeing things when I closed my eyes I—"

_The claws were at his throat, the rage wanted in, its heat melting without marring, burning without scorching, he opened his mouth to scream for mercy, for freedom, but he was filled with noxious smoke, and it saw him for what he really was. You are angry and afraid. I can make you better, give yourself to me_ — 

"I see…"

Cullen’s jaw went rigid and his eyes grew glassy as he tried to pull himself out of the past. He tried to pry away from his memories of the circle, of Meredith, of all of it, but he felt as though he could bat his hands and never strike the haunting thoughts down. It was a bad night. 

"Ah. What you need is a good bit of distraction," Blackwall announced, as if what he saw in Cullen wasn’t a man falling apart at the seams. He stood tall and strong, adjusting his sleeves where he’d rolled them to his elbows and cracked his neck. 

"Yes, I suppose I could," Cullen’s words came out as a fragile huffed laugh, and he stepped into Blackwall’s world. He could feel the warmth of the fireplace just yards away and he flinched— _Rage, there, at his throat, licking his face, cooking his flesh from the inside out, burning, breaking, bruising, blistering_ — He shook his head, forcefully, the heels of his hands coming up to his eyes to rub the remnants of the images off them, as if it would keep them at bay forever. He’d tear his eyes from his head and cast them away if he thought that living life blind would let him live it peacefully. 

"Did you have something in mind?" Cullen asked, watching Blackwall pick up a roll of linen cloth. He wrapped it around his knuckles and palms, quickly and precisely, then tossed the roll to Cullen while tying off with the aid of his teeth. 

Cullen felt the fabric beneath his fingers, and it brought back memories. Very old ones. He knew its purpose. He wrapped his hands in the bandage and then set it aside, walking cautiously around Blackwall who was rolling one shoulder, then the other.

"Are you sure you want to spar at such a late hour? Are you not tired?" Cullen asked, cracking his knuckles. As he stretched his shoulders and wrung out his hands, Blackwall smiled a private sort of smile. Maybe he couldn’t sleep either. Were they both so haunted? Cullen wished Blackwall could sleep, he'd rather suffer alone, or so he told himself when he avoided the warden's gaze.

Cullen smiled back, eyes flicking nervously back; he watched as Blackwall used a chisel to trace a ring in the dirt for them to stand in. 

"Afraid I’ll beat you, Commander?" Blackwall’s tone was somewhat lighter, a gleam to his eye that made him seem like a younger man. Cullen knew they were not too far apart, but there was a weariness in Blackwall’s walk that always made him seem older, like he’d seen the weight of the world fall from his shoulders and had to pick it up piece by piece once it shattered.

His thoughts always trickled in abstract ways when he felt the lure of lyrium. He felt as though the veil between himself and his past grew so thin he couldn’t quite differentiate between now and then, reality, and whatever his mind was conjuring up. 

He was so caught up in thought that when the first strike came, he barely had a moment to think, he just reacted, the side of Blackwall’s hand swatting against his forearm. It startled him, but pulled him out of the past and into the moment. He lifted his hands, open palms, eyes narrowed as he slid a foot back to give himself better balance. 

Blackwall moved like the ocean. He came at Cullen in crashing waves, he struck hard and broad against his sides, batting him around like a ship out in his stormy sea and Cullen was stuck on the defensive. Blow by blow, the way his body thrummed, the winded feeling at blows to his stomach, it all helped him to see what was right in front of him and let go.

_Just let go._

He heard the words whispered against his ear, a fever dream, he could hear them in Blackwall’s low timbre but it wasn’t real. It was just his mind, spinning outward into a hundred thousand strands of consciousness all pulling in to this one point.

He threw his hands out, catching blows, grasping Blackwall’s wrists, trying to grapple, but Blackwall ducked, he pulled free, he spun Cullen around, he had his arm twisted up behind his back and Cullen could feel the intensity of Blackwall’s breath on his neck. When he tore away they both were trying to steady their breathing for the next bout. 

It kept going, in and out, blow for blow, grasp for grasp, the cold sweat on Cullen’s skin turning hot, his muscles humming at a workout they hadn’t had in a long time. He was out of practice at hand to hand combat, admittedly, but Blackwall made it seem effortless. 

Cullen moved in, grasping Blackwall’s forearm, but Blackwall twisted free and Cullen was caught, his wrist in grasp. He moved to strike with his other hand, aiming for distraction, an opening to get free, but Blackwall was faster, he caught him and pulled his arms up between them holding them there against his chest in a blatant display of strength. Cullen couldn’t pull himself free from the grip without twisting a wrist. He had to think— Blackwall tugged his arms down and crossed them over one another, pulling Cullen closer, challenging, chest to chest, his grip not waning.  _He had to think_ —

Then he couldn’t.

"Come now, Commander, surely you can slip me?"

There was a taunt in his tone, but Cullen could hardly hear. His head was pounding, or was that his heart? He looked Blackwall over, sweat shining on his skin, glistening in the firelight. He could smell the musk of his skin, mingling with the smoke of the fire, it sent warmth flooding over his face in a deeper blush than the healthy worked flush he’d already been wearing. 

Dark strands were stuck against Blackwall’s face, and his chest was heaving with every breath he took. His eyes were so bright, catching the light of the dancing flames and reflecting them back at Cullen who gave one weak tug that had Blackwall chuckling but that was it, Cullen knew then, he didn’t want to get free. He didn’t want to pull away. When he saw a smile on Blackwall’s lips every bit of sense left in his head fled. He was overcome.

Cullen pressed in closer, he could feel the beat of Blackwall’s heart against his skin and he kissed him, open mouth closing over Blackwall’s smug smile. Blackwall didn’t move at first, Cullen’s mind took a few moments to catch up to his body. What came next happened too quickly, in the span of moments Cullen’s world changed.

Blackwall’s grip loosened on his wrists, Cullen drew back a tiny, bit, they both took a breath, Cullen met Blackwall’s eyes, Blackwall’s grip moved, he let go of Cullen’s writs and grasped his forearms, pulling him closer again, he guided Cullen’s arms around his waist, the look in Blackwall’s eyes was one of confusion, contemplation, he waited less than a second and their mouths met again. 

Sudden, wet, sweat on their lips, it tasted of salt and iron, they panted into each other’s mouths. It wasn’t careful, they were still sparring, their teeth and lips catching, biting, sucking, and Cullen moaned. Blackwall almost pulled away, the sound seeming to startle him for a second time but then he grasped Cullen by his backside, hands on firm, supple flesh, pressing them together from sternum to pelvis, no room to breathe any air but one another’s. 

Cullen had kissed before, but never quite like that. 

Blackwall’s mouth tasted of smoke and sweat, he smelled sweet like hay and warm like the fire, he filled Cullen up, and for those few moments, he forgot what he had been running from when he came down here.

Instead, he thought about something worth running to.


End file.
